Operation: INFILTRATE AKATSUKI! v2
by CherryTreeTimes
Summary: The mission: infiltrate the Akatsuki organization. The problem: I ended up their 'pet.' Version 2/Rewrite.
1. Chapter 1

**So I decided to rewrite this and make it better and less lame. The old version may or may not be gone after a while. The goal is to rewrite this and the next one, but leave the last one as is. So until I get back to it, it's on a temp Hiatus.**

* * *

Operation: Infiltrate Akatsuki!

V2.

Chapter One:

Career Choices

I pace around my bedroom on wobbly legs, wondering if I had gone down the right career path. Who'd ever said that being a ninja was so great? That having cool jutsus and tricks to use in battle was just a thing that my oh so naïve, five year old self had to have? It's that exact wide eyed idealism that led me to pursue the art of being of kunoichi, and, 13 years later, it's the reason why I feel in danger of crapping my heart out onto the floor.

I switch from pacing to sticking my head out of the window. The humid night air does nothing to calm my nerves. It's hard to breathe, so I retreat back inside my room and slink over to the mirror. My mind races, my palms sweat, and I seriously consider flinging myself out of my still open window. Before I can move, the bedroom door opens, and in pops the frizzy head of my mother. She brandishes a huge backpack stuffed to near capacity. A rolled up sleeping bag is tied to the top.

"You don't want to be late for your mission, do you?" she asks.

Mission. Right. The reason why my body is having trouble functioning properly. If it was some ordinary field mission that I was so used to, maybe I'd be fine. If it wasn't a basic death sentence, maybe I'd be chill about it.

I bite my lip and think about how I should have become the type of girl who marries a rich doctor and has his babies by age 23 to trap him. At least then I'd be in no danger of imminent death.

Mom sets the pack down and hurries over to me, straightening my ponytail and tugging on my shorts to see if they come down any lower. "You _cannot _be ill-prepared for this, Shiori. This is a very important mission and _you _are the only one in this village who can do it!"

I steady myself on the oak dresser in front of me, feeling in sudden danger of passing out.

My mission: infiltrate the Akatsuki Hideout and gather as much information as I can. On account of my near-perfect memory and penchant for memorizing large chunks of information in short times, I was a shoe-in for this mission. The only problem is: I didn't choose to take it, and if I wanted to get technical, I'd say that I was being forced into it against my will. These were the freaking _Akatsuki. _Not some regular, run-of-the-mill delinquent gang. And while I found them fascinating in a strange way, I in no way shape or form wanted to be thrust into the heart of their headquarters in order to gather info.

The kicker? I have to get myself kidnapped.

"Geez, Shiori, do you ever moisturize your hair?"

I swat Mom's hands away and run my fingers through my ponytail. She seems to not have a hold on the severity of the situation. Ever since I got the news that I would be sent on the mission, she hadn't stopped acting like I was chosen to be a pageant queen. Not being a ninja herself, she never really grasped the fact that it was no playing around. To her, it was glamorized fisticuffs.

My alarm clock plays its tiny little music box tune, and it's then I know that it's time. Time for me to go. I take one last look at myself in the mirror—after all, I may not come back in the same condition. I may not come back at all.

Grabbing the pack, I stumble into the hallway. The Twin Monsters—my younger brother and sister, are watching me from the doorways of their bedrooms with wide eyes. They're five, and absolutely can't wait to start their formal training. I want to tell them not to even try. That it's not worth the effort, the heartache, the fear that you might not return from a mission. Something prevents me from doing so, and I'm glad. I just don't have the heart to shatter their dreams, although I wish someone had shattered mine.

My father is in our painfully blue kitchen, face blank and hands clasped tightly on the coffee mug in front of him. I at least had someone to feel negatively about my job. Dad had been against the Akatsuki mission from the start, arguing that sending a young girl into a den full of men is just outright asinine, and that if any of them touched me he'd have a personal "talk" with the village leader himself. As I pass him to get to the door, I avoid all eye contact. I don't need any sentimental goodbyes or tearful hugs. The last thing I want is another reason to hesitate.

"Good luck, big sister!" says a voice.

"Bring us souvenirs back, okay?" says another.

_Dammit. _

"Okay," I squeak before flinging the door open and sprinting away from the house. Leave it to a couple of five year olds to reduce me to a pile of mush.

The Village Hidden in the Shadows is very much exactly what it says on the tin. With its gloomy buildings and many secret passages that the kids just _love, _almost everything is behind a shadow. Tonight, the chirping of the crickets and the damp, muggy air accompanies me towards the village gates. It's all I need; the quiet, still air is perfect for just relaxing the brain and thinking. The stillness of the village at night is always the first thing to deter visitors. They think it eerie, that it's so quiet it's almost as if they're not alone…

To the right of me, a cat screeches, and I nearly turn tail and start running. I find it funny that the girl being sent on such an important mission gets so easily startled by hissing cats. I pass alleyway after alleyway, house after house, making sure to look around me whenever I walk under a streetlamp. I go through the shopping district, the convenience store, the strip joint, heart hammering harder and harder the closer I get to the gates.

I hadn't had a panic attack in a few years, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep it together. _Come on, Shiori, _I think. _You can do this. You might not have much training but you can do this._

The gatekeeper, a young man with dyed ice blue hair and a nose piercing, impatiently waves me over from his post. As I approach, he boredly looks me over from head to toe.

"And where are you going so late?" he asks, blowing a big pink bubblegum bubble in my face. I roll my eyes.

"I have a mission, for your information. And I'm on a very tight schedule."

"Oh?" The bubble pops, he leans closer over the wooden post. "Aren't you dressed a little too lightly? It gets pretty chilly at night in the forest."

He eyes my legs. Maybe I should have changed to pants. I shift out of his gaze, moving towards the closed gates.

"Open the gates," I say, arms folded.

"What's the ma-gic word?" he coos. And he opens the gates just before I can turn around and throw a fit, laughing all the while.

"Good luck, Shiori!" he calls after me. I wonder how he knows my name. But then again, news in the village travels pretty fast, and the fact that I'm going into a den full of lions is probably the latest gossip in the entire land. Hopefully that would turn out to be in my favor.

The large wooden gates close behind me, cutting me off from the village. The forest beyond my home is roughly the size of a large supermarket, and compared to others, it can hardly be called much of a forest in the first place. But given the context of my situation, and the time of night, it seems like it stretches on forever.

I walk slowly, attentively, careful not to trip over a my own feet and knock myself out cold five minutes into the mission. It's hard not to imagine the shadows of the trees coming alive and ensnaring me in their branches, or some lonesome ghost appearing and robbing me of my breath. _Okay, _I think with a shuddering breath. _Stop thinking crazy things, Shiori._

Behind me, and owl hoots, and it sends me sprinting wildly though the forest. I try and follow the moon, doing my best to avoid veering off the path and smashing into trees. Every two feet, I trip. But there it is—the end of the scary trees, and the beginning of my path into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

Operation: Infiltrate Akatsuki!

V2.

Chapter Two:

The Stifling Atmosphere of the Golden Buddha Club

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when my aching feet drag themselves into Aruzai, a small town off the coast of a nearby beach. Aruzai's main industry and source of income is fishing, and the air smells faintly of salt and the sea. It's heavenly, almost, and I close my eyes as if I'm on a vacation and this is my resort.

But then a passing child kicks me in the shin and I realize that no, this is no vacation.

I keep walking despite my urge to throttle the brat on the spot, focusing instead on my previous briefing of the mission. Everything I needed to know beforehand (places of interest, Akatsuki info files and whatnot) is neatly printed on an obnoxiously thick packet of paper, so graciously prepared for me by the village leader's ancient secretary. I pull it out of my pack, cautious not to upheave any of the stuffed items, and flick it open to the brief on Aruzai. More specifically, a place called The Golden Buddha Club. My eyes scan down the page, searching for any key info on the place.

According to the page, frequent Akatsuki sightings of varying degree occur in the town. More specifically,, the Club. It's a heavily guarded building, with all sorts of nefarious activities taking place inside. I fold the paper up and stash it away, mind focused on my next target.

I wander around town in search of an inn to stash my things—who knows how long I would be in Aruzai?

The salty sweet smell of the air puts me in a trance, making my body go off on its own. Stumbling over the cobblestone streets and narrowly avoiding passersby, I end up in an alley. The ground is stone just like the main streets, and at the end is a dimly lit sign that simply says "INN." Water drips from the gutters above, creating the infuriating _drip-drip _sound that is scientifically proven to drive me crazy.

Due to the wide size of my pack, I move through the alley with difficulty. The calming air does nothing to stop the feeling that the inn is quite possibly a dump, and when I swing the door open, I'm met with a mishmash of good and bad qualities. The lobby is for the most part, clean, with sliding doors and long, stretching halls leading in two directions. A middle-aged man shuffles past me, two young, scantily clad women on either side of him. I watch them pass in mild distaste before going to the reception desk.

Sitting behind it is a man with a long face and graying brown hair. Stubble lines his chin, and a lit cigarette hangs from his mouth. As I approach, he gives me a once over with his eyes. I feel naked, with the way he's looking at me, and I want nothing more than to leave.

"Can I.. Can I have a room, please?" I ask. To my dismay, my voice falters.

The man smirks as if I've just told the funniest joke in the world.

"You must be from outta town," he breathes in between cigarette puffs. "This ain't a regular inn, honey. The regular inn's about a few blocks east from here."

I glance around, drawing into myself as if I could catch something from the place. My previous hunches about this place being a dump are partially correct, it seems. I decide to play ignorant.

"Oh? Then what is it?"

The man takes a final drag of the cigarette and deposits it in an ashtray. "You want a room? You gotta work for it."

Woah.

"Prostitution? No thank you, sir." My head swimming with colorful words and insults, I turn in my tracks to leave. His rough voice stops me.

"That's not all I offer," he growls, as if I've insulted him. "How old are you? I might have a job for you down at the Golden Buddha. With a little makeup, you could be one of my girls."

The tone of his voice, the gravelly sound of it, and the overall subject matter of the conversation begins to make me feel in need of a long, hot shower. Only once have I been subjected to such hungry stares from the opposite sex. That time made me want to run away screaming as well.

But thinking logically, the situation is a stroke of luck. The so-called "job" could be just what I need to get into the Golden Buddha. Hopefully, there would be a few black and red cloaks inside.

I take a deep breath. "I'll take it."

The man's eyebrows rise. "How old are you?" he repeats. At least shady creeps weren't creepy enough to go after minors.

Maybe.

"I'm 18."

His features relax immediately and he points a thumb to the left of him. "Spare room's at the end of the left. Michiko'll show ya the ropes. MICHIKO!"

'Michiko' scurries down the hall towards us, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She's tall and curvy, with a big bust and wide hips. Long black hair falls past her shoulders. Her eyes are dark with mascara and eye shadow, and her lips are a bright red. Her bra straps hang off of her shoulders and for a second, I wonder if I've interrupted something.

"What?" she barks. Just as the long-faced man did, she looks me over quickly with an eyebrow raised.

"She'll be replacin' Kana tonight," says the man. "Get her set up."

Michiko gapes at him. "Seriously? She's a _ninja, _boss. Look at the headband 'round her waist."

Uh oh. Michiko's committed a grave offense, for the long-faced man's eyes go wide and he yanks her close to him by the arm. "I said, 'get her set up.' You think I give a flying fuck what she is? Money is money, baby, and when you mess with mine, you get canned."

He roughly shoves her away and nods his head in the direction of the spare room. "Go."

With a huff and a death glare, Michiko has me following her down the hall. And with every step I take, I go farther and farther into the dark, abysmal pit known as 'Operation: Infiltrate Akatsuki.' Hopefully I'd get some serious cash when it was over. Provided I'm still alive.

* * *

"This was Kana's outfit. Make sure you keep it all on, alright? Boss doesn't care to have to replace uniforms every time some client runs off with 'em."

Michiko shoves an armful of fabric that one may call 'clothes' into my arms and crosses over to a tiny drawer in the corner. The room is basically empty, save for a futon rolled up on the floor. The sliding paper doors do little for privacy's sake, and I fear that some perverted old man could be very well looking at me right now.

Michiko's disgruntled explanations continue. "You can put your stuff here in this drawer. Work starts in two hours, so don't be late! Get dressed quickly, and make your way down to the club early to get hair and makeup done. And as for the club, we just entertain the guests. Since you're new, stick close to me. If a guest wants something, you give it to them. But no sleeping with them, that's an entirely different group so let them do their jobs. You get to keep tips from the customers."

Michiko gives me a wary look before saying, "You might not get many tips though."

My mouth falls open for a split second before I compose myself. I wouldn't call myself the prettiest girl in the world, but I definitely didn't think myself ugly. Despite not having a boyfriend ever, and having a best friend who could very well be a model, my self-esteem stays pretty high.

Usually.

My nervous habits begin. My eyes drop to the floor, and my hand goes up to tuck pieces of hair behind my ear. When I look back up, Michiko's expression softens. She looks like an entirely different person without a permanent scowl stuck to her face.

"It's nothing a little eyeliner and mascara won't fix," she says. Her voice is soft, as if this is literally the best she can do compliment-wise. IF growing up with my mother is any consolation, I've learned to accept apologies from anyone without protesting, even if they were half-assed. Michiko stretches, and the scowl returns to her face.

"I'll wait in the hall. Get changed."

She leaves, and I'm alone. I stand staring at the door for a few seconds before moving to look down at the clothes in my arms. Closing my eyes, I try and think of just _how _had I managed to get myself in this one? Sure, it was a great lead, and getting into the Golden Buddha would be pretty easy now, but I still can't pull it all together in my mind.

"I don't hear changing!"

I jump at the sound of Michiko's voice and remind myself that this is all for the greater good. This mission will greatly benefit the land, and hopefully put a speed bump in the Akatsuki's plans. I'm important, and I have a duty to fulfill.

It takes me almost no time to get dressed, due to the fact that there is hardly any clothing covering me at all. Kana must have been extremely confident with her body, or at least had a little curve to her—I'm sure the outfit looked spectacular on her. But as I examine myself in the mirror, I take special notice of my lack of cleavage and the tiny, pale stretch marks on my upper thighs. The shorts are shorter than any pair I've ever worn, and I'm sure if I bend over far enough they'll disappear.

My confidence meter drops a few notches, as it usually does when I wear clothes that are too small. It threatens to drop a few more, but my self pity party is crashed by Michiko. She gives me a once over, turns me around, 'mm-hms' to herself.

"Wow," she says, nodding. "You fill that out better than Kana did. She was so scrawny, she _hardly _got any customers."

My eyes widen and I finally break my gaze from the mirror. Was I hearing her correctly?

"Excuse me? _I _fill this out well?"

"Ohhh, you're one of _those _types," says Michiko with a grin. "Listen, kid. If you weren't at least a little bit attractive, Boss wouldn't have even considered asking you to take this job. Chin up! That outfit squeezes you in the right places, y'know? Guys like full women. You might not be curvy like me, but give it some time. Especially since you're a ninja or whatnot. All that exercise builds muscle, don't it?"

Before I can answer, she's laughing and pulling me out of the room. I feel my face heat up in embarrassment. But Michiko's compliment gives me a slight boost in confidence that I feel can keep me leveled all night. Now all that is left to do is try and scope out the G.B.

* * *

The inside of the Golden Buddha is a mess of brightly colored smoke, loud music, and bodies crammed into almost every space. I try and stick close to Michiko and the other girls as they skillfully maneuver around the many tables and chairs that hold way more people than probably intended. We pass a few women crowded around each other, holding what looks to be comically large, excessively decorated pipes.

It explains the colorful smoke and the thick smell that's threatening to send me into an asthma attack perfectly.

In the short time it takes me to observe the source of the smoke, all of the girls I had been walking with are scattered throughout the southeast area of the room. I spot Michiko handing a drink to a grabby middle aged man with a cigar in between his teeth. To take my mind off of the butterflies rising in my stomach, I slink against the wall and continue to watch.

At least, this way, I won't have to actually come into contact with anyone.

Just like Michiko said earlier, there are two sets of girls working the G.B.; my group, the ones just playfully flirting and/or serving drinks to the guests, and the _others, _the ones full on making out and/or in a permanent grope fest with the guests. I can't tear my eyes away from a particular woman, whose top seems to have completely disappeared from her person, play tonsil hockey with… another, more muscular woman?

Squinting my eyes, I try and see clearer through the smoke. The second woman may just be the tallest I've ever seen, something I can tell even though she's sitting down, and the abs showing through the netting on her midriff-bearing shirt are extremely impressive.

I blink. They've noticed my staring, and have ceased their making out just to give me a look as though I'm intruding (which I no doubt am). Before I can embarrass myself further, I quickly scramble away towards the bar.

Michiko greets me, stirring a bright pink liquid in a tall glass. She gestures to the leather stool next to her and I sit, already exhausted despite not having done anything.

"How's your night so far?" she asks, taking a giant swig from the glass. "I've made about 100 in tips. You?"

"Um, I haven't made anything," I say with a groan. "Nothing but a fool of myself."

Now I have her full attention. "It hasn't been 20 minutes, new girl, what'd you do?"

My eyes roll towards the ceiling before settling on the various bottles and glasses behind the bar. The male bartender winks at me.

"Well, I kinda stared at these two women making out and they caught me staring."

Michiko's glass is empty now, and there's a noticeable flush to her cheeks. She orders another. "Are you into women or something?"

"What? No! I just, was surprised at the one chick's muscles. They were almost like a guy's."

The bartender sets an identical glass in front of Michiko and she immediately starts chugging. When the glass slams back down onto the shiny bar surface, she looks over at me. "Really? Show me."

I swing around in my seat, ready to point her out, when I'm lifted off of the bar seat and slung over someone's shoulder.

Michiko, bored, watches me panic. "Calm down, newbie, you'll be alright. It's just your first customer!"

My assailant is a broad shouldered guy whose massive tree trunk arms are covered in tattoos. He has an impressive mustache that looks like there's food stuck in it.

Gross.

"Listen, guy," I mutter. "You wanna put me down? I promise I won't run."

He guffaws loudly before setting me down on my feet in front of him. "I haven't seen you around before, sweetheart," he breathes into my face. It's obvious how many drinks he's had tonight.

"Well," I begin, taking a step back. "I'm new here."

Sir Mustache begins to ramble on about what sounds like a too-detailed analysis of my person, but I quickly tune him out in order to focus on the rising Muscle Woman and her slow saunter in my direction. As she approaches, I realize, in fact, just how tall she is compared to me. The top of my head reaches just below collarbone, and I immediately imagine being hugged by someone so tall.

The thought is very pleasing.

Muscle Woman sits herself down at the bar, two seats away from Michiko, who winks and moves her fingers in a tiny little wave. The M.W. cracks a small smile at this and—

Why am I paying so much attention to this chick?

` It takes nearly a second for me to rudely excuse myself from Sir Mustache and plop down right next to Michiko in an effort to hide my burning face.

"Wha's wrong?" she asks, cheeks flushed and clearly inebriated.

I steal a quick glance at Muscle Woman before answering. Her dark rimmed eyes are boring directly into mine.

"Oh gosh, Michiko I think I'm attracted to her," I whisper in a panic. My stomach tightens at the very obvious holes being bored into the back of my head.

"I would be too," says Michiko. "He's quite a looker."

"What?!"

"Take a closer look, newbie, geez." She goes back to her drinking before I can say another word and I slowly swivel around in the chair to face Muscle _Man_.

He's a seat closer to me now, an amused smirk plastered to his face.

What an annoying facial expression.

"I've never seen you before, hm."

The deep set of his voice seals the fact that he is indeed the complete opposite of what I had originally thought. Up close, Muscle Man is the epitome of a pretty boy—long, very cared for hair, and a slim, feminine face yet not quite. Androgynous, almost.

Oh wow.

What a hottie.


End file.
